Cherish Me As Much As I Cherish You
by ilovethesoundofviolins
Summary: After Artie brings Quinn a whole lot of unexpected joy for two weeks straight, she starts to feel a little head over heels, or, well, head over wheels, as well as a little hot and heavy. 3x15


**Author's Note:** This is set during the middle of 3x15, "Big Brother." Basically, in the timeline of this fic, Artie and Quinn haven't gotten up to the "Up, Up, Up"/skate park part of the episode yet. They've sung their duet and they've rolled around in the halls together a lot, being adorable.

"Big Brother" gave me a lot of Quartie feels, and I haven't written them in 5ever, but I just had to write something like this after their little moments that episode.

Title is taken from Glee's "Cherish/Cherish" cover.

* * *

"So, how long will it take for my biceps to start looking bigger?"

Quinn has the shirt sleeves of her blouse pushed up and she's sitting in her chair flexing, glancing down at her own slender arms. Artie looks at her and laughs, watching her laugh too. She glances up at him with her gold eyes and smiles at him beautifully, and he almost can't believe that Quinn Fabray, _Quinn goddamnshe'sgorgeous Fabray_, is in his bedroom right now.

Then again though, he thinks, he sort of can believe that she's here; that she has her wheelchair parked in the center of his hardwood floors, and she's here just to spend time with him. They _have_ been close lately after all, especially ever since Artie was the first one from Glee club to visit her in the hospital, promising that he would do what he could, _anything he could,_ to help her get through this.

Yes, they've been very close. Like best friends, even, or maybe more.

Everyone's been saying that it's just because of the chair. That it's just because "the two crippled kids might as well hang out and ride up the ramps together, right?" But Artie knows that it's about more than that, and Quinn does too.

They may not've spent a lot of time _alone_ together before Quinn got in her car accident a month ago, after Regionals, but Artie has always considered Quinn someone that matters to him. She's a part of his "Glee family," and thus someone that he has always and will always care about at the end of the day.

They've always had a nice rapport, as friends, for the last two years. In Glee club, sometimes, Quinn comes in and sits next to him and the two of them get lost in a stimulating conversation, while everyone else is singing. Sometimes, Artie winds up in one of her Honors classes for a semester (because he's ahead in some subjects, and she's really smart), and Artie gets in trouble for sending Quinn origami-shaped paper notes across the classroom. Sometimes, Artie just _looks at her_ in the hallway and wonders how the hell she's still single, and sometimes, Quinn asks Artie why more girls don't instantly swoon after they hear him sing. (She'd especially asked him that after Sugar had turned him down on Valentine's Day, and she'd been very comforting to him. Artie and Quinn are very good at comforting each other).

Now, in his room, Artie wheels away from his dresser and goes towards Quinn as she rolls her blouse sleeves back down.

"The muscles should be there in no time," Artie enthuses, about her biceps.

She grins at him and it makes him feel like a king.

"I think they're already startin' to grow in already," he suggests, smiling.

It's four fifteen, after school on a Thursday, and today Artie invited Quinn to hang out with him at his house until her mom could pick her up. For the most part, for the past two weeks, Quinn's gone home on the "short bus" with Artie after school. Artie's stop is twenty minutes before hers, though, and she hates riding in that thing by herself. Really, really hates it. It makes her sad. She mentioned that to Artie the day before and he told her, "you know you can always kick it at mine anytime, right?" and so she did. Quinn doesn't mind it at all, really…spending time with Artie…it's motivating, and amazing, and funny, and actually kind of…

Perfect.

I mean, just two days ago, Artie had spent his entire lunch break with her just to test out all the handicapped ramps on the McKinley campus, and race her up and down them for what felt like hours. Just four days ago, after school in the library, Artie had shown Quinn the "Pimp My Wheelchair" website he'd found a couple years ago (it was where he'd ordered his light up wheels from, and his optional spinners), and that had led to them watching funny YouTube videos for at least hour, until the "short bus" got there to get them.

It's just simple between them. It's easy to laugh. Artie is a joy to be around, and they both wonder why they've never made actual, planned out efforts to hang out like this before. They make each other happy.

It wasn't that she hadn't ever enjoyed his company before, but she'd just never realized that they could get along this well.

There's just _something_ _about Artie_ to her, now that she's with him so often, she thinks. There's something about the way that he isn't just being sweet to her out of obligation, or because he wants something, or because of the "civic duty" he has as a "fellow paraplegic" to "show her the ways of his people.

Artie's just a really nice guy, and a really nice friend to have as it is. He sees Quinn. He gets her. He likes her for her mind and the things she says. Sure, people call Artie selfish sometimes (Quinn remembers Santana and Brittany saying a lot about that during junior year), and sometimes he _can_ be a little defensive, but Quinn thinks that he's also giving, and inspiring, and kind, and actually very self_less._

When Artie wheels in closer to her, in his bedroom, now, Quinn leans forward onto her elbows, still smiling and just staring at him. They've been in his room for a half hour or so, and Artie has been showing her random bits of furniture, some of his comic-con paraphernalia, and all the pictures in frames on his desk; things like that.

"So what do you _do _when you're in your room?" she asks him with ease, glancing around again.

Artie shrugs. "I'ono," he says. "Write scripts in my head. Do Calculus homework. Lie in bed and think about Star Wars."

Quinn shakes her head, and then glances over at his bed, sighing a little.

"You're lucky," she says, wheeling over to the bed's edge. "Your bed is so _low._"

Artie quirks an eyebrow, coming to wheel beside her. "Low?"

"Yes," Quinn says. "As in your bed frame is so very near to the floor." She glances down past her silver flats. "My bed is sort of—lofted—" She makes a gesture with her hands, one that Artie finds adorable, "and it's pretty hard to hoist myself up there at night."

Artie looks over at her again, smiles confidently. "It just takes practice," he tells Quinn. "Or handrails."

She looks at him too.

"I used to have to use handrails, when I first started," Artie reveals, looking at his bed reflectively. "The space from chair to bed always felt as wide as the Grand Canyon when I had to make the jump. It was damn scary when I was nine."

Quinn laughs a little.

"That's how I feel," she says. "I haven't fallen yet, but I'm still not very good, and it takes…a lot of time."

Artie's eyes both brighten and get sad.

"Do you wanna try now?" he asks, hopeful.

Quinn raises her eyebrows, moves her eyes across his face, back and forth.

"Try what…" she says, her voice dipping just a little bit lower, "getting into bed?"

Artie suddenly realizes that Quinn's eyes are holding onto his own much tighter than he remembers, and he almost starts to blush in front of her, on the spot. Quinn laughs again though and wheels up so that her knees are pressed against Artie's comforter.

"Yeah," she says, answering her own question with enthusiasm. "Let's do it. Show me how you do this thing. I could always use more practice."

Artie regains his confidence, ignores the fluttery feeling he just got in his stomach, and clears his throat.

"It's all about using the right muscles," he explains, sitting up straight in the chair, preparing his arms. "And about pressing into a part of the mattress that won't give or make you fall back into your chair. Or, worse, on the floor."

He shifts forward and presses his hands hard into the bed, far enough from the edge to brace himself. Quinn nods at his side, smiling, watching.

"Once you get set up," Artie says. "You just push."

He demonstrates, pressing his lips together, palming down with his hands, and beginning to lift his hips from the seat of the chair. His legs don't lift completely and they sort of drag with him, and then he lets himself back down instead of getting all the way on.

"I'm not so great at the pushing part," Quinn says. "That's the problem."

Artie recalls their wheelchair ramp stunt and he smiles.

"You were Head Cheerio," he reminds Quinn, positioning his hands again. His glasses slightly shift down his nose and Quinn wants to push them up for him, but she copies him and positions her hands on the bed instead. "Pretend that you're about to do a…round off backhand spring back tuck," Artie continues, happily. "Give yourself that kind of momentum."

Quinn laughs, amused. "What do you know about round off back handspring back tucks?" she asks.

"I took gymnastics when I was little," Artie says. "_Before_ the accident," he adds as an afterthought.

"Well, duh," Quinn jokes with him.

"Alright, come on." He re-braces his arms on the mattress. "Ready?" he says, looking at Quinn. "Round off backhand spring back tuck."

Quinn closes her eyes and Artie doesn't know why exactly, but he likes to think that maybe she's imagining herself as a cheerleader again, about to throw a tumbling pass at a National competition. Quinn's always been full of dreams for herself like that.

"Go!" Artie prompts her.

Artie pushes his upper body up and out of the chair with ease, sliding his waist against the mattress and beginning to hand-walk towards the top of the bed. Quinn does the same, but it takes her longer, and she clenches her eyes shut even tighter and laughs, halfway slipping as she goes.

"I'm _so sore_!" Quinn says as she shifts up and lays back, moving her head and resting it against one of Artie's many pillows.

Artie laughs with her and looks over at her, looks at the way her short hair is splayed out in blonde waves against the soft cotton; he leans back and rests his head against one of his pillows too, his face turned towards her.

"You're going to be so strong, Quinn," Artie says knowingly, settling into the bed. "You already are."

Quinn looks at him with another beautiful smile.

"You've been saying that a lot to me," she says, softer. "That I'm strong."

Artie nods and his eyes deepen in hers.

"Because I believe it," he says. "It's true. You are one of the…strongest people I know."

Quinn and Artie are lying next to each other on the bed, arms about an inch apart, legs numb and sprawled side by side. Quinn turns and looks up at the ceiling, so Artie does too, and Quinn is suddenly aware of how comfortable and natural and _right _she feels right now, with him.

She feels like she could've done this, could've opened up to Artie and lay right beside him, so much sooner than she has.

He's done so much without even _knowing;_he's made her laugh, he's raised her spirits, he's taught her how to dance and turn in her chair, he's even done something as trivial as showing her how to get on the bed using just her upper body.

Artie's turned Quinn's struggles into small but glorious victories for her, and after having an accident that scared her so much, she can't put a label on how wonderful that her makes her feel sometimes.

And she thinks he'd do it even if she wasn't in a chair like him.

She thinks Artie would cheer her on for everything, if she asked it of him.

Quinn shifts her arm over just a bit on the bed and brushes her fingertips against Artie's forearm, feather light. Artie's breath hitches and his cheeks heat up but he doesn't look at Quinn, and she doesn't look at him either. Instead, she just holds Artie's hand. Her palm rests on top of it and her fingers slip between his soft, gloveless skin. She glances down at their skin contact as Artie slightly squeezes her fingers, and she feels something in her heart from it all. She smiles.

Artie doesn't know how he deserves this, how Quinn is touching him and managing to make him feel things, but he tries to act like he can breathe and just holds onto her hand, lets her run her thumb im small circles over his knuckles affectionately.

Quinn says, "Thank you, Artie."

And Artie looks at for a moment before he says, "For what?"

Quinn's not smiling so much anymore, and now she's remembering how much pain she'd been in, mentally and physically, after her car crash. She remembers being so afraid, so bruised and ashamed and confused about how it all had happened so fast. How half her body just felt like it was _gone, _and she had to constantly look down at herself to remind herself that it even existed, and that it hadn't been torn off by that truck.

"For a while," Quinn speaks again, still touching his hand. "I thought—" she pauses, taking a deep breath. "I thought that I'd really done it this time."

Artie waits for her to keep talking.

"I thought that I'd ruined my life for good," Quinn admits. "I was there, so hurt, in that hospital bed—and for a second, I thought everything I had going for me—Yale, my friends, my entire life—was never going to come back again."

Artie's eyes find hers again.

Quinn looks at him. "I feel better now," she tells him. Her eyes are serious for a moment, and then all of a sudden, they aren't. They're calm. Then she's breaking their gaze and looking down at their hands again, gripping his fingers tighter.

"I know that I'm going to get it all back some day," she says. "No matter how badly things get screwed up. No matter how screwed up _I_am…"

Artie wants to tell her that she's perfect already.

"You've helped me feel better," Quinn says, putting her eyes in Artie's again. "Ever since you came to the hospital, to see me. You've been here for me more than—_anyone _has, at school, really."

"I'm glad," Artie responds. "I'm glad that you're doing so well after what happened. I wanted to help you, Quinn."

"And not just because you're on wheels instead of heels," he adds, smiling and chuckling.

Quinn laughs a little. He's such a dork.

"I really appreciate it," she says, smiling too. "And all your positivity. And everything you've shown me, and done for me."

Artie says, "You're welcome. It's like I say, Quinn…anytime."

And then it's quiet between them for a while. A nice, calm quiet. Quinn takes a good look at Artie's face, at the face that's been by her since day one of her recovery. He really _is_ very cute, Quinn thinks. Not in the conventional way, not in the way that you'd look at and drop your jaw because of, but in a way that sneaks up on you once you get spend time around him, a way that catches you and your heart by surprise.

When he laughs, it's the best sound in the world; when he talks, it's quick and calculated and it strings you along; when he smiles in that way where he quirks his lips to the side, you feel like you're melting somehow, all of the sudden, or at least, that's how Quinn feels.

And he has _these eyes_. They're usually hidden behind his glasses, but it's a shame because they're absolutely stunning; large, expressive, and the clearest blue Quinn's probably ever seen. You wouldn't know they were incredible unless you really looked. Quinn is glad she did look.

She's glad she _is__looking._

"Your eyes," Quinn says all of a sudden, still touching his hand.

Artie smiles gently, but he seems nervous.

"What about them?" he asks.

Quinn's eyes scan down Artie's face.

Artie gulps and it's small. His heart starts to beat just a little bit faster.

"They're really beautiful," Quinn says. "I'd never noticed until now."

Artie's brain feels like it's broken, because she just paid him a compliment and she really _meant it._

"Thank you," he breathes.

Quinn's eyes pause and admire his nose and his lips…especially, his lips…and then they slowly draw their way back up again, back to the calming blue.

"Anytime," she says, lowly.

Then she wraps her entire arm with his, leans closer to him, smiles beautifully one more time, and if Artie couldn't breathe before, he sure as hell can't breathe now.

Quinn presses her nose into Artie's, nuzzles it, and teasingly parts her lips just before his.

Artie's stomach does about ten thousand flips when he realizes _how close she is, _how warm the skin of her arm is as it grazes his, and then, with a sureness that he didn't even know he possessed, he moves in for her.

He inches his lips forward and closes the gap between them; he kisses her softly.

She closes her eyes, inhales, grips his hand tight, and feels herself beginning to come unraveled.

He really does make Quinn so, so happy.

Artie deepens the kiss a little, and Quinn lets him. Artie leans up, takes his spare hand, and his fingers gently press and drag at the base of Quinn's neck, threading through her blonde hair as his lips slip in and out of hers at a slow, uncertain pace. Quinn hasn't been kissed in such a long time, she realizes, and Artie is so sweet, so particular and hesitant and careful with her. She's so aware of every time their lips touch, and of faint touch he gives to her skin; of every time his fingertips touch her neck, or the base of her jaw, or her hands, especially her hands. She smiles softly into their sensitive kisses and so does he after a while.

And Quinn thinks, as they kiss, that she wants more. She wants him to touch her more. She wants him to know that.

Were Quinn of her usual able body, she would have taken control of him, probably sooner that she needed to; she would have rolled on top, dipped her tongue into his mouth, and quickly asserted where she wanted his hands to go. But Quinn is slightly out of her element here. She can't get up and use her legs and her body to show him what she wants. She has to ease her way into things.

Artie begins to gently suck on her lower lip and Quinn groans faintly from her throat. His eyes open at the sound because _god _is it sexy. She still has her eyes closed as she suddenly licks her way across his mouth, slipping her perfect tongue inside and quickly gliding it against his tongue.

Artie exhales deeply; he can't handle Quinn _making out with him, _he thinks, looking as gorgeous as she does, dragging her fingers up his forearm with a gentle, teasing scratch. She does it again several times, slides her tongue into his mouth hard, taunting him with it, and when she does her chest gravitates towards his; she turns a little and puts her spare hand over his, where it rests at the base of her neck, goading him on, making things hotter.

He pulls away a little, out of breath, his eyes bright and wired, his lips kiss-swollen already.

"Quinn," Artie whispers, dry.

Quinn squeezes both of his hands, the one on her face and the one resting on the bed, coaxingly.

"I'm—" he starts, gazing at her remarkable eyes and her poreless skin, licking his lips, "not very good at this—" he tries to explain, and then his voice sort of breaks, "not good enough for you—"

Quinn kisses him again to quiet him, and Artie once again feels like his brain's gone completely haywire.

"You're wonderful, Artie," she tells him, smiling, between kisses, "you're perfect for me."

Quinn bites and pulls on his lower lip, and Artie completely loses it.

He props himself up on one arm to give his neck a break, and kisses Quinn over her mouth, harder this time, with his eyes shut. Quinn immediately she feels Artie's tongue, strong and purposeful against her own. She sucks on it and listens to the way he groans every time; she shifts over on the bed, closer to him, and turns from her waist so that her chest is almost flush with his. Artie tangles his fingers through hair silky, short hair once more and presses his thumb in a hard stroke along her gorgeous jawline.

Quinn is kissing him opened-mouth, now, quick and needy and with no hesitation. Artie has turned his head to get a better angle, and he's half hard already as they start to become a little more rough with each other. Quinn sucking his lips hard and Artie giving small tugs to her hair and the two of them beginning to feel like their breath is being taken away.

Quinn takes one of her hands, then, in the midst of their deepest kiss, and inches it towards his torso, touching his abdomen faintly with electric fingertips. When he feels her hand press against his shirt, just above his waistline, his eyes shut a little bit tighter and he tells himself that _this isn't happening, Quinn is_not_dragging her fingers in a slow dance down the front of his tented pants, grazing the place where he's getting a boner beneath them, and trying to make him groan much louder than she's ready to hear._

Quinn and Artie are both breaking for air and opening their eyes, then; Quinn tears her lips from his for a second, and god, she's blushing everywhere, Artie thinks, but not as much as he's blushing now that she's caught him starting to get hard for her—not at all.

Quinn is still ghosting her hand atop his hard on, driving him crazy with how lust blown her golden brown suddenly eyes are, looking at _him_like that. He has chills. She doesn't say anything, because she doesn't need to; instead she fastens her lips to his neck, wrapping her one hand behind his head and starting to _bite_ at his skin there, and grasps his dick through his pants with her other hand, beginning to run her hand slowly up and down it.

Artie tries not to think about the fact that he must not be as big as Quinn would like; that he must not be like any of the other guys she's been with. She squeezes him and touches his length over and over again like he _is,_though; she runs her hand up and down his shaft and he's so sensitive, so stimulated by the way she grabs at him, that it makes him feel like he can do anything for her, anything she'd ever want and need him to, he promises.

Artie, very hard and straining now, finds himself crazed and wanting to thrust into the curve of Quinn's hand, but he can't exactly, not like he wants to, because his pants are still on, and because his hips don't have the power and his legs weigh him down; they're stuck on the bed, detached from his senses, no matter strong how he feels inside. Quinn kisses his neck, leaving marks all over, and then after one more stroke down his hard-on, one that leaves him practically desperate and almost shaking, her hand leaves his pants and wraps itself around his hand again; she takes his hand from the side of her face, drags it down her body, lets his fingertips graze her breastbone and navel, and then she takes him past her waist.

Quinn guides Artie's hand and makes his fingers tease the roughness of her jeans, the metal clutch of the zipper, and then she leaves him there.

Artie is frozen for a second; he thinks he isn't going to move his hand for a while because, fuck, is he so anxious about pleasing her well enough. But then Quinn is suddenly _tonguing_ his neck, coolly licking her way up the raw places where she's bitten, and then she's teething his earlobe gently, whispering, "Please, Artie," into his ear.

And Artie doesn't need to be told _that_twice.

In what feels like both slow motion and fast motion, Artie thumbs the button open and presses the zipper down as Quinn continues to suck at the skin of his neck. His hand is trembling because he's nervous and so disoriented, but he can feel Quinn slightly pushing her hips into him, as much as she can without the use of her legs. He dips his hand past the dark denim and two of his fingers graze against the warm cotton of her underwear; Quinn bites Artie even harder on his neck, grips her fingers into his shoulder even tighter, and Artie feels jerked forward by it; a deep groan departs his lips.

He's _just barely there,_so close to the place where she wants him to touch;Quinn wants him, no needs him, to go on for her, she needs it. Artie turns and presses his lips to the space just behind Quinn's ear, kissing her there and tensing as he presses his fingers down against the fabric, into her skin. Quinn breaks her mouth from his neck to groan softly, and Artie knows he must be doing something right; he begins to stroke his fingers, then, working them and pressing them just above her folds. Quinn gasps every time he pushes down, feeling something like a faint, tingling shock wave travel from her groin all the way up to her chest each time he does.

Artie can feel her moving into him, he can feel how good this is for her, so he takes his hand and slips it beneath her underwear; she's soft and hairless and perfect and his two fingers make their way between her lips, where she's already wet. At the sensation, at the feeling of Artie's fingertips just scarcely touching her clit, Quinn's hips lift and stutter, not a lot, because they can't really, but enough so that Artie knows he's in the right place—exactly the right place.

Quinn, as if to prepare herself, clings her hands to him, one on the back of his neck and the other curled over his shoulder, digging her nails in. Artie is so flustered that he can't breathe again, but when he feels a moist knob of harder flesh, he rubs back and forth against it knowingly, at a quicker pace than Quinn was anticipating. The reaction Artie gets from Quinn, the way she death grips him and gasps again, satisfied, gets him even harder, if that was even possible; the fact that his hand is causing her body make those sounds, the fact that he can feel the bone of her pelvis almost _rocking_against his fingers as he glides them faster and rougher over her clit…it's all making Artie get so into it that he uses his entire arm to pleasure her, he pulses his fingers and his hand against her over and over like an addict.

Quinn can't control the way she's moaning into him, the way she's breathy and panting and starting to sweat a little. She starts to feel that _heat_in her chest, the kind that pricks at her and steadily builds and flushes her chest with bright, red blotches. Artie is making her feel so uplifted, so hot, and so shaken, just by the way he touches and drags her at the center of all her sensations. Her heart beats hard when she thinks about the fact that she could've been dead from that car crash, she could've never felt this warm and pressed close to another body, a body like his, _ever again. _Quinn craves the way he's touching her. She feels compelled by the stokes of Artie's fingers, drawn to the curves they make as they pull at her clit and bring her closer to him. She feels like her body wants and needs to swell towards his, like everything is heat and moans and shaking and trembling and Artie's hand has her under control, completely and helplessly _under control._

Artie feels Quinn tighten her entire arm around his shoulder and back, bringing their chests even closer together, as close as they possibly can be. His hand snaps and he begins to use all of his fingers all of a sudden, slicking them over her clit so rapidly and so damn fast that he's not even thinking about it anymore, and the motion becomes rhythmically frantic. Quinn arches her back, presses her breasts into him, digs her nails deeper into his back through his shirt, tosses her head back, hums through her bitten lip, and Artie can feel her tensing up everywhere above the hips; sweat is beginning to form on her forehead, and he's so amazed by how she feels, how her clothed body presses into him and how she just gets wetter and hotter around his fingers, that he grunts and says her name, "Quinn," and almost loses his mind again when she moans his name back.

_"Artie—"_

Artie's hand slips down and two of his fingers enter her, thrusting them upwards at the same frenzied pace as before. Quinn gets hit with a wave of heat and pleasure as he keeps going; she gasps loudly, clenching around his fingers and feeling nothing but them, feeling like she's writhing from the inside out and the heat is rising quickly in her chest. Artie is breathing hard and Quinn is panting and holding onto him; he thrusts his fingers a few more times inside her, as steadily as he can, and then Quinn's body starts to jerk into his. She squeezes him tight and her muscles shake and then she's emitting the most gorgeous moan from her lips that he's ever heard. She comes and Artie feels it seep past his fingers; his brain short circuits and he smells something sweet and then he's straining so hard against his pants that he's coming, too. As Quinn's still breathing heavily and clenching down around his hand, Artie is groaning and his eyes are shutting and hips are twitching and everything is going white around him. Once he finishes, he starts to come back down; Artie opens his eyes and feels Quinn still pressing into his back and shoulders with her hands, her chest heaving up and down against his, her breath coming in and out concentrated whims.

Quinn lets her forehead rest against Artie's shoulder for a moment. Artie exhales and removes his hand from in between Quinn's legs, and that's when she reels back a bit to look at him.

She looks more perfect than he's ever seen her; her eyes are darker and her chest is stained red and her lips are parted and there's the faintest trace of a smile around her mouth. Artie, between his quickened breaths, smiles at her too, absentmindedly wiping his fingers against his pants and glancing down at her open jean zipper.

Quinn looks down too for a moment, at the wet spot in Artie's pants.

"I, um," Artie is muttering, when he realizes that he's sticky inside his boxers, and Quinn can tell. "That—doesn't always happen—I swear—"

Quinn makes eye contact with Artie again, noticing the way his blush has spread down to his neck. She doesn't mind, really, she doesn't; she reaches out to touch his arm, and she threads her fingers into his again, comfortingly.

"It's okay," she tells him, in a voice that's faint and low. Her squeezes his fingers, feels how hot his skin is, and remembers how well he'd touched her. "You just got—caught up in the moment."

Artie still feels dazed, but he's finally beginning to breathe normally again. He traces parts of her face with his eyes, mapping out her brows and her lashes and her perfect, perfect lips.

"You're just—" Artie speaks again, thinking about his hands on her body and his hands in her body and how he'd been able to make her feel. "You're _incredible_, Quinn."

Quinn smiles and her heart flutters, as she still tries to catch her breath.

"Thank you," she breathes.

She picks up Artie's hand and presses it to her lips, over and over and over again.

"Thank you."

Quinn closes her eyes and just lets herself hold his hand. Artie watches her rest for a moment, and all he can think about is that he's so glad she's here.

Quinn, in all her beauty and recovering strength, is here with him, and he wouldn't have it any other way.

Artie will stay with her, take care of her, as long as she'll have him.


End file.
